


The Redemption of You

by rabiosareads



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cassian speaks Spanish bc i need him to, Comfort Sex, Everybody Lives, F/M, Female receiving oral, Multiple Orgasms, Praise Kink, Sad with a Happy Ending, Slightly touched starved, Smut, kinda sad???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25250320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabiosareads/pseuds/rabiosareads
Summary: te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera- pablo neruda, sonata xvii
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Reader, Cassian Andor/You
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	The Redemption of You

**Author's Note:**

> Translated phrases at the end of the story!

A crack of lightning illuminated the window across the base, flashing a stark blue light across the paper thin slipcovers. The rolling of thunder, heavy and gathering power in its great volume, soon followed, accompanied by the quick pattering of rain. The sky was an inky obsidian until another snap of lightning struck, stronger in a brilliant electric blue, outlined smokey clouds. The marsh and earth sloshed around the base, coating the base of x-wings and equipment, gathering puddles in lingering footsteps of rebels and army green tarp. The port’s doors were wide open, trailing in waves of rain, however it was still in its dimly lit refuge. Cassian leaned against the wall and allowed the orange light to swallow him.

It was day three of no sleep. Sleep that was interrupted with snaps of nightmares, heavily coated in sweat and cold chills, sleep that was only granted to those who had no sliver of worry or terror. A blessing that was granted to those who haven’t seen the things he’s seen, done the things he’s done to see those things, things that would make anyone’s stomach roll with phantom illness. Everything was looking so bleak and dull, like the curved edges of his scorched Zeta-class cargo shuttle, staring back at him like a mocking omen. Hope was a fleeting flame that he saw at the edge of the hill the base sat on, tethering between staying lit in the downpour and dropping, dying in between flicks of blue and red feathers of fire.

He gulped back his thoughts, letting it bob against his Adam’s apple before allowing it to travel down. Weighted in its thick misery, he allowed it to collect in his belly with the rest of his despair, so warm in its companionship, turning his attention back to his cargo shuttle. 

He searched around the gathering of ration crates to find a bottle, hopefully full of spiced amber bitterness, something to at least  _ ease  _ the way he felt. Cassian Andor was never the one to wallow like this. To find refuge in bottles and haunted touches of his dreams, relying on what he would consider his more treasured moments. Not to allow this expanding pit in his chest, gaping and cranberry red, enveloping him whole like the sinking ground beneath his wet boots.

He hadn’t noticed his shirt clutching to his chest and shoulders sinking with the bullets of rain, but this kind of detachment was something that was more common than not. His body acted on its own accord and he couldn’t argue against it. He figured it was his bones begging for a break, some kind of separation that would allow him to somehow heal from the brutality of war. 

Or at least to provide a weak excuse to his rotting demeanor.

His mouth was open as well so he stuck out the tip of his tongue, rolling the drops on his buds. Sweet yet pungent, yet swiftly abandoned to encompass the earth around him. His eyes scanned the scenery, back to lower in vexation. 

His stolen cargo ship. A sign of hope. Right?

The same ship that he sat in hours ago, shaking with a great cold sweat that still licked the nape of his neck, eyes burning with a deafening weight of defeat. War was never easy, it’s not meant to be. But nobody said that seeing your comrades, the same ones that you shared late nights of rounds of Sabacc and stolen contraband of Corellian whiskey, were just sized down to floating and blistering remnants of rubble. It wasn’t easy to ignore the constant ringing of explosions, the heavy cotton that laid on his tongue while the screams of his team haunted his taut headache, same as the screeching whips of blaster bullets that were the culprit of his suffering.

All of this left him with only two things: the wickedness of his devils and hope.

_ Hope. _ He scoffed at it now, even rolled his eyes at it. 

Hope didn’t exist in a place like this, in a man like him. Defeated, poor fool, poor cocky fool that dared to dream with the stars, the same stars that left him abandoned to float alongside the ones that he broke bread with. Left him to tangle in plasma, scattered plates of metal and steel, to be left sleeping with the blankets of smog and smoke and the occasional musk of scorched skin. That stupid, idiotic, flaccid and damaged hope! He wanted to chew it up and spit it back out to let it limp and beg, raise its bleeding hands like pillars to the sky, holding up its offering of an apology to a man that was raised on it until it came around to absolutely break his heart into pieces of fried durasteel flakes.

He hadn’t also noticed she was standing next to him, standing on the tips of her toes to cover his head with her leather flight jacket. His eyes remained forward, only to twitch slightly at the smell of her skin, bathed in leather, scorched wiring and something a bit sweet, the kind that latches on to the back of Cassian’s teeth like candy floss. She stepped closer, sinking the tip of her boot in mud, then wiggling in place with her other foot.

He wanted to look. He wanted to push back the pounding distress that threatened to bellow out in a great growl, to look into the depth of her glimmering eyes and just  _ forget for one kriffing moment.  _ He allowed himself one slip of a glance, covered by the sleeve of her jacket and his hooded lashes, blinking away a lingering raindrop.

“You’re missing out on the party, Cassian,” she whispered, a hint of a smile in her tone. “I kicked Bodhi’s ass in the last round of Sabacc, you should’ve seen his face--”

“I don’t want to.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t want to.”

Odd answer from an odd man. As always he didn’t mean for it to come out with such a hiss that he could spot the bitter venom on the tip of his tongue, split in half, for it to sound so heavy with an itching disdain. Never around her.

“Something bothering you? For you to be in the rain like this? A bit dramatic, even for your taste,” She leaned in closer and he could feel his skin crawl with a million nerves at the scent of her sweet breath, digging into his aching bones like a dull blade. He wanted to take a few steps to the left and one big leap off the side of the planet, just to sink into the quicksand and running mud, anything else than to deal with the hurricane beating his chest down bare.

“You should go inside,” he murmured, clenching his fist. “You’re going to get sick.”

She huffed. “Huh. And you won’t? You’re  _ soaking,  _ Cassian.”

Their shared silence was suspended by a string, swaying from the next chilling wind, tagged along with a roll of thunder from far away. She chewed the inside of her cheek and stepped closer, feeling his arm flex with tension at the proximity. Always been the kind of man to never allow someone to open his chest and let out the battering folly, but she almost had on varying occasions. It comes easier and easier once it goes from shared glances during mission assignments to sobbing into bacta filled wounds. Somewhere she was embedded in him, deeper than inked skin and more tangible than a fingerprint, as if she grew from his own rib, and Cassian hated every second of it.

He clenched his fist harder. He hated it. Absolutely loathe it. Considered it to be despicable. How she managed to groove herself into every inch of him, to root her legs down in his flesh like the floral and fauna he met her in, covered in spotted brown lilies and banana leaves, with the biggest shit eating grin he ever saw on a then impressionable eighteen year old girl. She was nauseating in every way, from the way her loose strands of hair would dance in kissing winds or her laugh, so airy and thin like strings of sugar, sticking to the roof of his mouth with the flickering desire to taste it himself. To at least allow some kind of refuge in the arms of another, to at least forget that he was a walking ghost and only felt a pump of blood from the center of his chest when she was around. That in itself was sick.

It was abhorrent and cruel and pallid, like the slick aftermath of a boiling stomach, filling his throat and lungs with bile, to love someone so untouched with the pain he radiated off of. She was eager and careless, so enthusiastic to join a resistance while Cassian was molded by it, sculpted from the thick russet clay into a man on autopilot, filtering being actual human compassion and the slim familiar feeling of a slicked barrel of a blaster. 

It was all an accident. This sweetened affection for her was so foreign for him he considered that his body’s trauma had caught up to him at an early age and was going to strike him down with something as silly as cardiac arrest or blood clots.

_ Yeah, _ he scoffed. The great resistance leader Cassian Andor, dead by natural body causes or sick puppy love, at his age.  _ Yeah _ .

He never meant for it to go so far. He should’ve pushed away when she would pat his shoulder or lay her temple on his taut shoulder when she laughed, petal pink blush across her button nose, or even have the audacity to not curve a smirk when she would go on and on about her childhood stories of scraped knees and sunburns. He held onto it like trinkets, shelving them up high so on somber nights he could be able to reach out and twirl the dusty heirloom in his hand. She was his shared nightmare and dream, tethering on shaking territory that threatened to split their earth and separate them.

And the tension, unspoken in its heaviness, made it worse. It made him swell, it made him solidify that he absolutely did not want to her leave him in the soaking rain, to wrap him in that same leather jacket that was weighted by her shaking arm and pooled rain like an injured fowl, seeking the answers in her mouth and hushed whispers. 

But he deserved it, he concluded. He deserved to soak in this thunderous conclusion.

“Cassian,” she whispered, his name quipped upwards in honeyed tones. “Cassian.”

He raised an eyebrow, mouth pursed in false thought. She sighed, rattling her chest with a cold tremor. “Are you listening to me?”

“Loud and clear.”

He was acting like a ‘Bantha shit eating bastard’, as she would affectionately put it. And yet, even with that sinking guilt, it felt so natural. This is who he was, a pulling magnet against another magnet, allowing her to get oh so close until they snapped away and he went crawling back into his miserable hole. However like the storm they found themselves in, she was just as relentless and stubborn. She sunk the heels of her boot farther into the mud.

“If you’re going to be a Bantha shit eating bastard, can you at least do it under a roof? I can’t hold up his jacket forever.”

_ And there it was. _

Cassian allowed her to wrap a wet arm around his drenched sleeve, tugging at the edge of it like a child leading another child. The soft pattering rain echoed in the curved hallway, along with the cheers of his team Rogue One and clinking glasses. She sat down on the edge of a rations crate and patted her hand down to prompt him to sit as well.

“I saved you a bottle of Nabooian rum,” she raised her eyebrows. “Figured you’d want the good stuff while we all scrap for the next shot of fire whiskey.”

Cassian took his time to allow his head to roll down, starting his gaze at her hands wringing together in her lap, chest rising with eased breaths and then her mouth, red and chattering with the cold. Instant regret pooled in his belly and he was back, slipped into the moment that he relieved every evening since he met her, the familiar spirit of adoration and pitiful love. 

She looked so tired, rings of periwinkle underneath otherwise eyes of sprinkled glimmer, harboring nothing but that same innocence, thick lashes blinking back with his expected answer. Even with a bruised ring on the side of her head and small red cuts from scattering debris she looked so pretty, his pretty girl full of stardust, even if she knew it or not.

Or maybe she was just being nice to her upper ranking comrade.

He found himself smiling weakly, offering a sliver of his flipped coin. “That’s generous of you.”

“Do I hear gratitude, Andor? Haven’t heard it since we arrived from Scarif!” she scoffed playfully, sliding closer. Cassian felt the iron bars unlock and clink, offering one more chance to close it before he would regret it.

“Haven’t had the time,” he leaned back with a sigh, leaning an elbow back to rest on top of another crate. “Still wrapping my mind around the fact that this is over.”

“Thanks to you!” She beamed. “We celebrate with stolen crates of rich food and booze!”

The festering wound had opened, abscess and all, and he couldn’t ignore that itch. “For now.” 

It was not a question nor a statement. It suspended in between the two and she was left to see where the pendulum would swing next. She frowned and leaned forward, catching a knee in between her palms. “For now?”

The wound had split open. He had to close it, and fast. “We’re only starting. This is not it.”

“Well, yeah, but--”

“We’re not over. This was a battle. The war isn’t over--”

“-- Well not necessarily, I guess, but--”

“Will it  _ ever  _ end? Will I ever know peace?”

His words spilled from his mouth hot and with froth. She was taken aback and he noticed her aura shift into a tight rubber band, pulled back to stretch the material and thinned out, waiting for his next move. She concealed it by focusing on his bouncing knee and bit lip, softening her gaze to meet his timid one.

“Cassian… I’m not sure I’m understanding you correctly.  _ We, _ ” she motioned with her finger between the two of them. “Ended the war. That’s it. We won on Scarif. The rebellion has the plans, I’m not sure--”

“And then what?” he rose up with such a great force the crate wobbled behind him. “What else? They find the plans? They find us? They build something worse, they create planets bigger than the Death Star that could kill entire galaxies? Where exactly  _ is  _ the end?”

He had stopped with a gulp, staring out into the open air. A pang of lightning struck to break the sky, its white violence outlined with a periwinkle hue, the next furiously loud thunder shaking her skeletal frame. She kept her lips shut tight, the blood fleeting from the pressure. He had more to say so she allowed him to gather the storm inside his lungs and find the words.

“It’s hard,” was all he offered back to himself, a raspy whisper scraping the base of his throat. “It’s hard.”

“What’s hard?” she softly asked, rising to her feet. He flinched harder than expected, as if she pronged him with something angry hot, shoving his hands in his pockets to retreat. 

“Nothing. This is far from over.”

With admittance comes retreat. 

That was the only thing Cassian ran away from. He tried to make his body small around her, so as to slip into each of her cracks or fly away with the brisk wind that followed her rapid pace, just to avoid this. It was unwarranted attention, the sound of pride that oozed from her words, falsely bestowed upon his head like a rich yellow golden crown. He had to ignore it, the warmth she offered with open arms and swishing glasses of Nabooian rum. 

It was better for him this way. It was better for her.

And what could she offer in exchange for his solace? She was made clear about Cassian, a man who grew from the weak roots and soiled earth of war, that he was not the kind of person to relish in small victories. On to the next one, he’d always say, and at that moment he was already halfway there, emptiness in the back of his eyes, darkened by the storm inside. And maybe it was terrifying and devastating for her to learn of such things. To know that someone could go through so much that chipping at the concrete would do nothing but grind the stone deeper into the cold comfort he made himself.

Her palm itched to drag along his jaw, peppered with budding hair, to curl at the upper juncture that connected to his earlobe. To take her thumb and run along his cupid’s bow, the button of his nose and the height of his cheekbone, to watch him melt so seamlessly into her it was as if they were one. Anything to provide that answer that he so desperately searched.

Instead she stared at him with watery eyes. She searched his face, wishing to find a clue, something that she can use to convince him that,  _ yes, you Cassian Andor, you did good and you’ve always been good, you can at least rest your eyes and allow a sliver of happiness, let me be the one to offer it to you.  _

His stomach churned with bubbling anxiety and with a clenching chest, he released a staggering breath, watching the haze of his manifested breath dance up to his hooded eyes.

“You should go back. You don’t want Jyn or someone to drink your Corellian whiskey, hmm?” He deflected, wincing at how pathetically low he sounded in comparison to the roar of laughter from the otherside of the base.

She shook her head and pressed forward to stand in front of him. “Fuck the whiskey. You’re more important.”

_ She shouldn’t have said that. _

_ She shouldn’t have said it, she shouldn’t have fucking said that-- _

“Why are you pushing me away, Cassian? I-I can help,” she closed her eyes at the sound of her hiccuping words, suppressed by the weight of her tears. “What do you need? I can help you.”

He scoffed darkly at her, chuckling. “You can’t  _ fix  _ me, querida, that’s not how any of this works--”

She hadn’t noticed the slip of the name and he was convinced he had officially gone insane. She placed her hands on the small of her back and squinted at him.

“I can’t fix you. I can only help you figure that out for yourself.”

She stuck her left hand out and he flinched slightly, frowning in confusion. She thrusted it forward, suppressing a small smile. “Come on. We can have our own little pity party.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he hissed. “I said it was nothing.”

“I don’t care, we’re clearly not letting each other have fun and I’ll be damned if I got these scars and contraband for nothing. Come.”

His skin crawled at the feeling of her fingertips on his wrist. He only allowed his arm to twitch slightly as confirmation and she wrapped it slowly, pushing up his soaked sleeve to get a better grip. She led him down the hall, past roars of cheers, yelping and booming stomps to the end of the way. Her door whipped open and she walked forward.

“Wait here, lemme get you a towel or something dry!”

Cassian had been in her quarters numerous amounts of times, usually to continue an irritating argument from their runs or to wake her up when she slept past her alarm alerts. But this time around the air was balmy with a skittish nature, almost suffocating. He only moved up to allow the door to shut with a  _ hiss,  _ focusing his hazy vision outside her small window. The floor creaked with her quick steps, echoing along the durasteel walls, accompanied by a warm yellow light from her refresher. 

He allowed himself to exhale a shaking breath, stretched tight across his chest, then choking on the smell of her room. Of  _ her,  _ so unique he could probably smell the lingering afternote from miles away. His senses were hypersensitive, so turned up it made his skin itch, the back of his throat drier than the sands of Tatooine. It was warm like heated wax and edged with something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, enticing like jasmine and spicy like peppered cured meats from the marketplaces that she dragged him on no matter what planet they were on. The dizzying combination filled his spinning head until a towel smacked it, earning a groan from him and a stifled chuckle from her.

“I don’t think my clothes would fit you but you can sit on some towels,” she shrugged, sitting on the edge of her bed. 

He murmured a thank you however he was distracted by her shuffling feet, pushing up and outwards to kick off her boots. She wiggled her toes and sighed, closing her eyes at the wafting cool air. She opened one eye with a small smirk, patting the space next to her. 

“Sit down and check what’s underneath my pillow.”

He pulled the limp pillow up with a weak toss, revealing a black bottle, curved inwards into an hourglass shaped, capped with a cork top. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, suppressing a chuckle himself, shaking the bottle.

“Really?” he drawled, popping the cork to smell it. He winced and gagged at the offensive smell.

“I told you, I’m not letting my celebration go to waste!”

“You really know how to celebrate, huh? This smells  _ strong, _ ” he commented, earning an airy laugh from her. His stomach lurched at the sound and he made sure to internalize it, like the other instances where his grumpy demeanor was faulted to a jester. This earned a small quip of a smile from him, which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Is that a smile I see, Andor? This is a rare sighting, for sure,” she mused, patting the bed again to motion him to sit. He placed the towel down and sat at the edge of it, rocking his heel back and forth to allow the smallest amount of distance he could tolerate. 

“What you saw was my lip twitching. I think I am getting sick.”

“Ahh, so that's it, huh?”

She grabbed the bottle from his hand and swirled the liquid, taking a quick sip. She wrinkled her nose and sighed, popping the cap back on.

She began to feel the same tension he had created when he entered the room, making her hips shift in her seat to lean against it. She had tried to abandon the fleeting and displeasing feeling of the hope that something could transpire in her quarters, secretly praying to the Maker he couldn’t tell the difference between his damp skin and clammy hands. Although she gritted her retort to him and tried to reassure him that she was not there to fix him she couldn’t help but fear that that was all she could offer were her nimble hands and her heart, two sizes too big for her birdcage chest. She had no idea where to start, where to even begin to detangle the tresses he displayed, hopefully finding some liquid courage in the Corellian whiskey she found pooling in her tongue.

“Is it good?” he asked when he took a quick swig, wincing at the burning sensation that gathered in his chest. The warmth spread with ease and it calmed him down just a pinch, but his bouncing knees were knocking so hard against each other he feared they were going to start a fire. “ _ Shit  _ that tastes like speeder fluid.”

He was sick of the awkward split in the balmy air with beating moments of tense heartache and squalling words he had to swallow like glass, so he opened his mouth to speak. “So I--”

“Do you think we’re… we’re really not done yet?” her voice came out as a squeak, her ears burning. 

He swallowed. “Honestly?” she nodded. “No.”

She hummed at Cassian and leaned back on her forearms, lulling her head back to land on the wall behind her with a dull  _ thud.  _ “Us rebel scum can’t catch a break huh?”

That he offered a stiff huff, resembling an impressed chuckle. “I guess not.”

A beat. “Cassian?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m proud of you.”

His entire body filled with concrete, stiffening his limbs into place. His jaw slacked a bit and his eyes widened, watching the blood flood her face into a furious blush. It felt… odd. Strange. Eerie. Absolutely abnormal and unnatural. He had heard it in passing, in the hard and firm pats on the shoulder or in slurred vocabulary, but never in the level of sincerity she presented. It sounded heavier than it was intended to be and it ached him so slowly pulsating his body back to life when her lips moved again, curling at the syllables that vibrated in awkward staccatos.

“T-The way you l-lead us in the rebellion, I-I’m sure Mon Mothma has told you th-that already and so has Rogue One--  _ Maker _ \-- but I? Me? I just wanted to let  _ you  _ know personally that... I’m p-proud.”

If he wasn’t on fire right now Cassian would deem her stuttering demeanor as cute.

The festering habit to close up came back but he pushed it back, hanging on the way she said the phrase in such a timid manner. “Say it again.”

She blinked dumbly at him. “H-Huh?”

“What you said. Say it again.” He crawled forward and gripped his pants.

He hated begging, he had never begged a day in his kriffing  _ life _ , but this was no time to reconsider the whine in his voice, desperately clutching on the edge of reason.

“You don’t believe me?” 

He said nothing and allowed the shame to flood his body like cold water, shivering from his already compromised nature. He should’ve shut up, he should’ve told her to quit being sappy and to  _ let it go--  _

“I mean it, Cassian. I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”

He latched onto the way her voice deepened with aching emotion. His body gravitated closer to her, pulling away with a slight forceful tug that staggered his hips back onto the mattress. She leaned in, following his pulled nature, eyes bigger and wet lower lashes. 

He almost whined back at the sheer thought of her crying. No, not over  _ him,  _ a simple weak man that she was foolish enough to find pride in. She had a better chance at crying at an injured animal and receiving reciprocal grief than in him, a tempest to the eye of his own hurricane, circling around his ankles to sink him deeper. She dipped her head, the crack of lightning illuminating the room and the sliver of skin from her drooping shoulder.

“Do you believe me?” she whispered, watching his mouth open and close in thought. His fingers clenched her sheets tighter and he searched for her gaze once more, feeling the courage flood back in to lock eyes. “Do you know how much I care about you, Cassian?”

“ _ Stop, _ ” he whined, dancing his fingertips to land on hers. She knew he was trying not to fall, from the firm grasp of her palm and his running thumb. She was warmer than Cassian remembered, a bit clammy yet comforting in the sense that he could find home in the relishing softness of her skin. 

He inched closer, their knees clinking together like windchimes, taking her hand to land on top of his thigh. He held it there while he dipped to her timid frame, his mouth seeking out her skin. They land on her forehead and he makes no movement, simply allowing to drag the grooved and chapped flesh upwards into her hairline. The awkward angle strained her shoulders so she folded into him, resting her temple on his shoulder, sinking into his smell of rainwater and spiced whiskey. 

He raised her hand slowly, her head rising up to watch him. He kissed one knuckle, then the next, watching as her eyes twitch at the intimate sensation. He turned her hand over to place a kiss at the center of her palm, then her pulsing wrist, up to the groove of her creased elbow. “Cassian…”

“How?” he breathed, tilting her head upwards to land forehead to forehead. “How do you always know what to say?”

There were no reservations, absolutely no hesitation when he caressed her cheek, almost groaning at the licking flames that ignited inside him, dragging the calloused skin of his thumb from her chin to the apples of her cheek. He sank into the silkiness of her face, tilting her face upwards. The refresher light bathed her in a sweet beam of light, shadowing the curve of her nose and dip of her cupid’s bow.

“You’re going to be the death of me,  _ querida. _ ” 

“Yeah? You can’t die yet, we still got work to do… right?”

Her question was left unanswered when he placed a tempered kiss to her bottom lip, moving a bit up to fully trap her with his lips. She sighed into it, the rubber band finally snapping into the curve of her neck as he carded his hand through the base of it to massage her scalp. She gasped when he slightly tugged at the root, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue past her chattering teeth.

The slick muscle sought out the praises she held back before he shamefully repressed it, relishing in the taste of the bitter liquor she downed before. His hands rubbed and gripped the sides of her arms, feeling the muscle flex into his touch, landing on her hips. He pulled back from the slow motion, watching a thread of saliva leave their attached lips. Her hands crawled up the sides of his neck, massaging the patch of skin underneath his earlobe, allowing him to keen into her touch.

He trailed his kisses down from her jaw to her neck, suckling on the pulsing vein, releasing a longing sigh. He slipped a hand underneath her shirt to cup her belly, splaying his fingers across the patch of flesh. She turned her hips towards him, shifting her weight on one arm, grabbing his hand on her belly to trail up to cup the side of her ribcage.

“You’re eager,” he commented. “Don’t rush a good thing.”

However he complied to her eagerness and placed the under curve of her breast in the space between his thumb and forefinger, massaging her sternum. His hands shook with anticipation at her pebbling skin, ridden with the prickling sensation of his calloused skin, his thumb dangerously close to her hard nipple. 

It slipped past her heaving breast to gather the shirt in his fist, her catching the hint immediately to throw the material over her head and on the edge of the bed. He gaped at her chest, flushed like her cheeks, pebbled nipples peeking into the slivers of light. He watched her collarbones dip inward and out from her shallow breaths, her growing insecurity vibrating from his stares.

“Cassian, what?” she whined, tilting her head to the side to lay on her shoulder.

“You look so beautiful,” he raised his hand back up to cup her breast, softly squeezing the flesh and pinching the hardened nipple. “Like this.  _ Tan bonita para mi. _ ”

His head leaned forward to capture the nipple in between his lips, circling the flesh with his hot tongue. She whimpered at the warmth of his mouth, pressing her palms into the mattress. She clutched the sheets when he dragged his incisors around in a crescent motion, moving his lips to her sternum. He pushed her down with a soft hand to her belly again, snaking his free arm to cushion underneath her head. 

The same hand looped a finger around her belt loop, twisting the cloth back and forth. He popped the button and with her assistance, pulled the zipper down enough for him to slip a hand down her front. He cupped her clothed mound and applied pressure, watching her eyelids flutter at the sudden weight.

Her pants pull down far enough to reveal a silver scar, the contrasting flesh twisted in a crescent shape. He frowned at this and she peered up, sighing. “It didn’t hurt as bad as it looks.”

He rubbed the dented end with a careful thumb. “Was I there? When he happened?” His fingers danced down the smooth border of her panties, fingertips tapping the space between her pelvis and mound.

“No,” she breathed, sucking in a hiss when he dipped underneath the cloth, dangerously close to her sweet spot. “I know you wouldn’t have let it happen.”

His middle finger slid down her slit to find her slick warmth. She hissed at the contrast of his cold tips to her warm center, spreading her legs further apart to accommodate his large hands. His forefinger joined next, gathering her slick to trail upwards to circle her clit in languid motions. 

He focused on the space between her brows that creased with every completion of the circle, her bottom lip trembling at his molasses-like speed, her slick gathering more and more in her soaked panties. He shushed her whines with a hard kiss, pressing his teeth into hers, picking up speed while she clenched and jerked her hips upwards to find  _ any  _ form of friction and pressure. It was as if he injected hot lava into her veins, watching her skin bubble with arousal and seep through her mumbles of begged promises.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good,” he promised back, licking his lips. “Is that what you want? To make you feel good?”

She whimpered at his words, nodding feverishly when he picked up his pace, his pattern switching between circles and swipes depending on the volume of her protest. She took a hand to lay on his jawline, mouth agape with hiccuping gasps. Just when he found the right pressure, almost piercing with quick swipes, she built up beads of sweat in her hairline and the back of her neck. Her eyes flutter and roll possessively, trembling against his stoic frame.

“Cassian,  _ please, _ ” she practically begged, her eyes stinging with her sweet high. 

“ _ Que, que paso. Dime _ , tell me, I want to hear it from you…” he offered back, his swipes so quick his thumb dug into her pelvis.

“Please, I-I need it, please, please  _ please _ \--”

“I know  _ querida _ , I feel it. You’re so sweet for me, so wet, let me hear it…”

One, two, three quick swipes and she arched her back forward, her release so sharp and rippling through her stuttering frame, plaintive sobs escaping her dry throat with no regard of volume. He continued his movement past her orgasm, already bringing her on the precipice of another one, however it was too acute and fine for her to handle right away so she pushed his chest back, his damp clothes making a wet splat against her hand.

“Y-You can’t be comfortable in that,” she pointed out, breathing heavily into his face. He chuckled, earnestly and amused, slipping his hand out of her pants.

He first took the two fingers to his lips, slipping his tongue out to swirl around the digits to taste her slick arousal. He groaned at the taste, so unique to her. “You taste like everything I dreamed of.”

She felt as if her body would combust into a supernova then and there, overwhelmed by his nimble fingers and flowing words, rich and thick like boiling syrup, dripping into her mouth with great need. 

He slipped his shirt off, extending his long torso to reveal honey skin and scattered scars, some fresh with pink broken cuts and some resembling her silver-peach ones, deep and puffing with jagged gatherings of skin. She leaned in and placed a hand below his sternum, trailing the scars with her fingernails. He shuddered under her careful touch, allowing her hand to trail downwards to trace his trail of hair. She cupped his bulge, aching and low on the side of his thigh, giving it an earnest squeeze. He suppressed a guttural groan, grabbing her hand to pull away.

“But Cassian--” she was interrupted with a gentle peck, his hands working to slip her pants and panties off at the same time.

“I want to taste you first,” he growled, snapping the pants around her ankles. “You don’t want that?”

She could roll her eyes at his incredulous question but the embarrassingly slick trail between her thighs earned a shudder from the cold cycled air, her heart hammering harder than the pattering rain at her window. He took her hands to allow her to rest on his hips, a signal for her to remove them. 

He kicked them off at the end, crawling on the bed. She followed suit, lifting up to lay horizontally on the mattress. She pressed her thighs together, her clit painfully hard and aching for more, until he pushed his torso between her clenched knees. He rubbed his hands up and down her thighs, kneading the round flesh and up to her ribcage, biting a grin as he got closer and her legs spread further apart.

He was a sight to behold. His hips arched forward, chest flared forward and rounded shoulders, his hard cock curving up to lay on his lean belly, the head of it already glistening with his pearled pre cum. Her mouth salivated, wondering how his hot arousal would feel on the tip of her tongue but the consistent clenching of her pussy was at the forefront of her arousal.

He crawled backwards to kneel at the foot of the bed, dragging his rough palms down to the under bend of her knees. He kissed the inside of one first, then the other, taking the tip of his tongue to draw circles around the sweltering flesh. She jerked her hips up at each of his careful motion, making him chuckle.

“ _ Relajarse, princesa, _ I got you,” He cooed, leading trails of butterfly kisses down her trembling thighs. 

He mimicked the same motion as his fingers, flattening his tongue at her core and dragging up to her clit, creating a small circle around the bundle of nerves. She gasped at the contact and clutched her thighs around his head. He inhaled her scent and latched on to her clit, suckling it slowly as if he was absolutely parched of everything she had to offer.

He held her hips down like anchors to allow himself to move his head with his mouth, first in swirls with his latched mouth then up and down with his flat tongue, making sure to lap up every single drop. She panted while she propped herself up by her forearms, watching Cassian take his sweet time to indulge. He fluttered his eyelids up to stare back and her heart fluttered in her chest, all of her blood concentrating on her next undoing.

“Cassian-- oh  _ Maker, _ ” Her groan was rough and slightly animalistic while her hips rolled, grinding her pussy into his nose and mouth. He moaned back in response and kept lapping up, her body heeding warning at her next episode. With a stuttered roll and soft pants, her release rolled around like boulders, bumping into the base of her spine and spreading warmth across her pelvis. 

He didn’t allow her to recover fully, bringing himself back up to give her a deep and bruising kiss. As her arousal slipped between her teeth he pulled the bent of her knees upwards to signify for her to wrap them around his shaking waist. 

Cassian rose up and took his cock in his hand to line up with her entrance, making sure to gather some of her arousal on his tip. He hissed at the sensation, furrowing his brows and snapping his eyes shut, almost drunk off of the sheer anticipation. He gripped the curve of her waist and sheathed inside, gulping at her tight grip.

“ _ Shit, _ ” he hissed, grabbing both hips to pull her closer. “You’re so tight,  _ mi amor _ .”

She gasped and fluttered at the stretch of his cock, thick and long, slowly rocking inch by inch to allow her to adjust. She was already swimming at the edge of her disaster, still dangerously high from the last, her grip loosening with his coaxing moans, obsidian eyes and bitten lips.

He began to rock into her, again so languid and rhythmic that it made her roll her eyes backwards at the rigid affection. She pulled him closer by wrapping her arms around his neck, running her palms on the valleys of his back. As soon as he gathered a rhythm he picked up speed, mostly out of his own greedy release, consumed by the proximity of their heat and his devastating nature.

It built up something fierce in him, gathering at the heated pools in his hips, the only release in the sudden harsh thrusts that threw her backwards. She pulled him so close that at the end of each thrust they were conjoined by the hip, allowing pressure on her aching clit. He felt lost and suddenly tense, worried even, that this moment would end when he was standing at the top of that hill, snapping him awake into his sweat soaked mattress, leaving him shamefully damp and begging to not to even see her face so as to not trigger his lost desire.

He shoved his face in the crook of her neck, kissing whatever plane of skin he could find, his panting curling heat. “Maker,  _ mi amor _ , you feel so-- ahh fuck-- so good,” She dug her figernails into his back when he raised her hips up, finding that spot that was so devestatingly piercing and razor sharp that it threw out any coherent thought. “ _ Estas haciendo muy bien _ , you’re doing  _ so fucking good _ for me.”

She whimpered a response when his fingers sought out her clit again, squeezing between their bodies to build up the quick swipes that she grew to crave. Her jaw laid slacked open, whining embarrassingly loud and pathetic. The storm outside did nothing to drown out the filthy sound of their skin slapping against each other, rapid in desperation, along with their gathered groans. He can feel himself climbing up to his release, his cock milked by the constant grip of it, his throat conflicted between crying her name out or growling.

“A-Are you close?” his cheeks flush at the sound of his stuttering demeanor. 

“Oh, Maker yes, Cassian, please, f-faster--”

He then  _ grinds  _ inside her, pulling upwards to detach her hips from his, further snapping in and out. She cried out, hot tears gathering at the corner of her clenched lids, jutting her hips up to reach further into that same spot that left her seeing stars.

“ _ Ven por mi _ ,” he growled, wrapping her legs again and swirling rapid circles on her pulsating clit. “Come, cum for me one ore time, you can give me one more, pretty girl.”

_ Pretty girl. _

It came white hot and grueling, unforgiving in its intensity, especially when it made her shudder with such intense force that Cassian had to keep her still to give a few more hard snaps. He caught up behind her and salivated at the sensation of her pussy milking his release, earning a long and exasperated mix of a moan and whine.

Her body twitched against his and he gathered her in his arms, carefully as if she was made of glass, shushing her shattering frame and gulping breaths. He took one hand and laced her hair into his fingers, curling and digging into the softness. She peppered kisses along his wet hairline, closing her eyes as it shook out lingering water. Cassian stayed inside of her even after going soft, attaching himself into the addicting warmth she held between her legs. The storm raged on but it had calmed substantially, the thunder now a faraway rumble. 

Cassian kept his eyes closed as she continued to pepper kisses on his flushed face, pressing further into squish himself on her. Behind the tight lids tears began to form, pooling at the corners of his crinkled expression. She giggled at this and lifted his face, searching his eyes. 

And there it was, the spark that drove her this far. The spark that only he had, like specks of gold in the darkness, only allowing its brilliant glimmer at the mercy of hers. His face even glowed a bit more, a sincere smile creasing the edge of his drooping eyes. He felt no fear, as if all the stress and pain lifted off like wings to the sky. He had wanted this desire, perhaps even considered it too big of a fantasy to try and manifest, left to collect cobwebs in the back of his head, rattling as a reminder of who he could be. 

“What is it?” she broke the silence, her heart punching her chest.

He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” her voice sounded defeated but he dismissed it with another kiss to her eyelids. 

“It’s a good nothing. Trust me.” Cassian allowed himself to melt into her when she brought her fingers to his scalp, scratching the wet tresses.

A brief flash of lightning. A roar of laughter, of cheers, of unfiltered joy. A reminder of victory.

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATION:
> 
> \- querida: dear  
> \- Tan bonita para mi: so pretty for me  
> \- Que paso, dime: what happened, tell me  
> \- Mi amor: my love  
> \- Estas haciendo muy ben: doing so good  
> \- Relajarse, princesa: relax, princess  
> \- Ven por me: come for me


End file.
